


Group Effort

by uena



Series: The Sweetest Thing [45]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic, Found Family, Home Improvement, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2016-09-03
Packaged: 2018-08-11 20:35:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7906813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uena/pseuds/uena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elodie comes over to build them their Kitten Amusement Park. It doesn't quite go as planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [princeyoungjaes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/princeyoungjaes/gifts).



It’s Thursday, and Elodie is a little late for their appointment. Not that Porthos is going to say anything. He’s got a blind spot for her that’s about a mile wide, and he can’t help but worry about her, especially after how things went down with her mother in law the last time he saw her.

Being without a partner to raise a baby is a hell of a challenge. He knows. He gets called on to check on single parents with quite depressing regularity. Which is something he will never, ever tell her.

So he takes care to put on a smile as he steps out of the apartment door to receive her at the elevator, doesn’t even have to work all that hard to maintain it when he catches a glimpse at her grinning face as the elevator doors open.

He genuinely likes her, and not just because she’s such a strong woman. He likes her spirit, her essence - likes her mischievous grin and speaking eyes.

“Swanky place,” she says upon emerging from the elevator and stepping on the plush carpet in the hallway. “You might have said you’re rich - I would have set my price a lot higher.”

She looks even more pregnant than the last time Porthos saw her, and he has to ball both hands to fists to keep himself from reaching out and doing something stupid. Like pick her up and carry her. He doesn’t want to get slapped.

“I’m positive Athos tried to get you to do that,” he says instead, gently guiding her into the apartment. “It’s you who’s too stubborn to let him.”

He takes her bulky handbag and helps her out of her jacket, tries to stop her from taking off her shoes and then stares up at the ceiling in nervous helplessness when she insists on doing it anyway.

A tug on his arm prompts him to look back down, and she’s grinning at him, a decidedly roguish twinkle in her eyes. “Now I want to climb up a really high ladder.”

“You’re gonna sit down,” Porthos says, his words heavily laced with insistence, “and have a cup of tea. Anne is already here, measurin’ _absolutely everythin’_ , so you might as well leave that to her and rest.”

“So authoritative,” Elodie comments, allowing him to walk her to the sofa. “You don’t happen to work with children, do you?”

She sits down with deliberate precision and a sigh, and then takes in the scene around her. Anne is high up on a ladder by the window, measuring the distance from floor to ceiling while Aramis tries to prevent the kittens from climbing up after her. She’s brought d’Artagnan to aid her, and he is busy taking pictures of the walls on the other end of the room, stopping now and again to mark down the numbers she shouts at him. At a little distance from it all Athos is preparing tea, his back to the bustle, serenely adding a spoon of honey to the pot.

Elodie looks decidedly pleased to see them all work so well with and around each other, and Porthos bites his tongue and fiddles around with a cushion, ready to place it behind her back when she’s least likely to pay attention, forgetting to answer her question about his profession.

“Just let them, Aramis,” Anne says, climbing down from her perch. “The ladder can take it, and they have to learn it eventually if you go through with your amusement park plan.”

“It is not an amusement park,” Athos says from the kitchen, and finally turns around. “I merely thought it would be a nice idea to give them space to roam.”

He spots Elodie on the sofa and comes over, shakes her hand, sufficiently distracting for Pothos to position his cushion. “Welcome. Would you like some tea?”

“I was told to have some, yes,” she replies, grinning up at him. “Your boyfriend is very pushy.” She leans back as she speaks, stops when she notices the sudden appearance of something soft and squishy at her back, and rolls her eyes. “Pushy and overprotective.”

“I believe I told you that you will get used to it,” Athos smiles, gently nudging Aramis forward when he appears at his elbow. “This is Aramis. He is our boyfriend as well.”

It comes out a little less smooth than he probably intended, and Elodie stares from one to the other in perplexion for a moment, before shrugging and smiling. “O _kay_. Can’t hurt to have one in reserve as I’ve come to find out. I’m pleased to meet you.”

Aramis takes to her like a duck to water and joins her on the couch while Anne and d’Artagnan introduce themselves as well.

“So I see you’ve already been busy,” Elodie observes once they’ve all settled down and found a place to sit. “Would somebody be so good and disclose the scope of the kitten amusement park to me?”

“It is not,” Athos repeats with a stony expression, “an amusement park.”

D’Artagnan giggles and earns himself an evil glare.

“What I would like,” Athos continues smoothly, “is for them to have runways along the walls, including perches and caves large enough for when they are fully grown.”

“No water rides, got it,” Elodie teases, and gets out her enormous dayplanner from the handbag Porthos deposited by her feet, makes a few notes. “Want me to do a scratching post like a fireman’s pole in the corner by the window there, floor to ceiling, with some perches for them higher up?”

Athos nods. “Definitely.”

Anne immediately provides her with the numbers. “I’ve done some sketches for the runways already - do you want to see?”

Elodie nods and hoists herself up with a groan, and then the two of them put their heads together over by the dining table, where Anne left her sketchbook earlier. D’Artagnan follows to make notes and add his mite to the conversation, and Aramis allows himself to be distracted by Tom, who is suddenly very interested in the most beautiful blanket in the world, and attempts to make himself a nest of it.

Meanwhile Porthos can’t help but stare at Elodie, wishing she’d sit down, or at least stop bending over at such an uncomfortable angle.

“I wonder if she is aware that she has been adopted,” Athos murmurs next to him.

It takes his words about a minute or two to penetrate Porthos’ mind. When they eventually do, he turns his head and squints at Athos, reproachful. “Aren’t you worried?”

“Of course I am,” Athos replies softly. “I try to distract myself by remembering that it is none of our business - and that she has not asked us for help of any kind.” He pulls Santiago into his lap as he speaks and scratches him behind the ears, earning himself a delighted little squeak and instant purring. “I do not believe that she is the kind of person who allows strangers to get a glimpse at the structure behind her wall of strength.”

“She’s not,” Porthos agrees immediately. “Thing is, she doesn’t _feel_ like a stranger. I wanna help her.”

“Of course you do,” Athos says, his voice very soft. “I would have driven you to the emergency room myself if you didn’t.”


	2. Chapter 2

Porthos lets out a little sigh and leans in to brush a kiss to Athos’ forehead. “You’re very relaxed today, considerin’ all those strange people in your home.”

“But none of them truly are,” Athos replies, looking back at Porthos from underneath half-closed lids. “You just said it yourself. I regard d’Artagnan much in the light of a younger brother … or maybe an annoying cousin.”

Porthos snorts in amusement, and Athos blinks a sly eye, not quite successful at hiding the grin in the corners of his mouth. “You are not the only one who is allowed to adopt people, you know.”

“Obviously,” Porthos chuckles. “You’re gettin’ quite good at it, aren’t you.”

Aramis chooses this moment to join their conversation, leaning heavily into Athos’ side and snuggling up to him with joyful abandon. “I like Elodie,” he informs them, quite unnecessarily. “She’s a very sweet person. I think she’s going to be a great mom.”

“That she’ll be,” Porthos agrees immediately, his eyes searching her out once more.

“You are staring,” Athos informs him softly, lifting his left arm so Aramis can burrow into him more efficiently. “Even more so than Aramis did when he beheld Anne for the very first time.”

Aramis blushes and glances up at him with shy affection, and Athos leans in to brush a kiss to his temple. “Should we be jealous, Aramis - what do you think?”

They all blink when a sudden flash brightens the room, and then d’Artagnan waves at them with his phone and comes over. “Sorry, but that was the most picture-perfect moment I’ve ever seen. Let me send you the photo, okay?”

“This is nothing but a sophisticated ploy to get my number,” Athos drawls, taking d’Artagnan’s phone from him to add his contact information himself. “Although I have to admit that it is my own fault for being remiss in giving it to you unprompted.”

He hands the phone back and d’Artagnan sits down next to Porthos, who lifts his arm for him in an inviting gesture.

D’Artagnan shows about a second of reluctance to close the distance between them, but then he leans into Porthos just as heavily as Aramis is leaning into Athos - heaves a rather despondent sigh. “Constance threw me out of her shop yesterday,” he informs them. “She says I’m a _distracting nuisance of a turtle_.”

Porthos pets him consolingly.

“I believe she meant the good kind of distracting,” Athos says. “Did she say anything to you, Aramis?”

“I am forbidden to take sides,” Aramis discloses, which basically tells them everything they need to know.

“What am I going to do now?” d’Artagnan wails. “I can’t keep haunting the place if she doesn’t want me there - I don’t want to be the kind of guy who keeps persisting in the face of all the evidence.”

“Have you tried inviting her out for coffee?” Athos asks gently.

“Of course I have,” d’Artagnan grunts. “We went out a few times - as friends. Always as friends. I don’t think I can keep this up. I mean, I love being her friend, but lately she won’t even let me be _that_.”

Porthos and Athos exchange a look.

“I do not mean to give you false hope,” Athos says, “but to me this sounds as if she likes you very much indeed, and does not want to admit as much to herself.”

“How is that giving me false hope? As long as she doesn’t want me, it doesn’t really matter why,” d’Artagnan pouts.

“Oh, I’d say it matters,” Porthos says. “Would you prefer it if she hated you?”

D’Artagnan frowns. “By now I don’t really know anymore. I just know it makes me feel rotten.”

Porthos closes both arms around him in an attempt to offer comfort, and is secretly delighted when d’Artagnan returns the hug with almost fervent insistence.

“Aren’t you a cuddly bunch,” Elodie comments upon coming closer, and sinks into Athos’ abandoned armchair with a moan of blissful relief. “If you’re prepared to disengage for a moment, Anne and I can show you what we’ve come up with so far.”

“I don’t know,” Porthos murmurs. “I’m rather comfortable like this.”

Elodie twinkles at him and turns her head to look up at Anne, who’s standing beside the armchair. “Customers.”

“So typical, really,” Anne agrees with a dainty smile. “First they tell you it’s a matter of life and death, but when you want their input they’re suddenly on holiday on the other side of the world.”

“This couch is hardly on the other side of the world,” Athos drawls, gently dislodging from Aramis’ embrace so he can get up. “Come on then, show me.”

Aramis latches onto Porthos’ side before he can follow, leaving him sandwiched between himself and d’Artagnan, and Elodie sinks to the right, propping up her elbow on the squishy armrest of her chair and resting her cheek in her palm. “How many boyfriends do you have, precisely?”

“D’Artagnan isn’t a boyfriend,” Porthos informs her. “He’s just a friend who happens to be a boy.”

“I’m not a boy!” d’Artagnan mutters, and Porthos drops a kiss onto his tousled hair.

“Manchild then.”

Elodie chuckles at d’Artagnan outraged expression, while Aramis takes Porthos’ hand and presses a little closer into him. “How far along are you? When’s the due-date?”

“Yesterday,” Elodie says, radiating serenity. “My little lady is taking her sweet time.”

Porthos blinks at her. “What if you get contractions?”

“I’m going to call a cab,” Elodie deadpans. “Please. I get enough of this nonsense from my mother in law. I am pregnant, not infirm.”

“Of course you aren’t,” Aramis agrees. “When my sister was pregnant with Timothy she was changing a tire on their SUV when her water broke. Do you have a name yet?”

The expression of slight annoyance on Elodie’s face is replaced by one of spontaneous but helpless affection. “I haven’t decided yet. James always liked _Jasmine_ , but I think that sounds like a stripper name.”

“It’s a very pretty flower,” Aramis says, neither inquiring who James might be, nor disparaging his taste in names.

Porthos has to take a very deep breath. “My mother’s name was Jasmine.”

Elodie suddenly looks as if she’s sprained something. “Oh my goodness, I am so sorry!”

Her very genuine remorse very nearly makes Porthos laugh. “Calm down will you - as far as I’m concerned there’s nothin’ wrong with bein’ a stripper. I for one couldn’t go up and down that pole the way they do - and certainly not wearin’ heels.”

“I think I need a drink to get rid of that mental image,” d’Artagnan comments and sits up straight. “A very strong drink.”

“You do look a little flushed,” Elodie teases, but abandons that line of communication when Anne appears next to the armchair once more. “Did you come to an agreement?”

Anne nods. “He nixed the perch closest to the window, but everything else is a go.”

“Afraid your babies are going to fall out?” Elodie asks Athos, who directs a very pointed stare at her belly.

“Nothing you could ever emphasize with, of course.”

“Not ever,” Elodie agrees. “Now will someone please direct me to the bathroom. My pregnancy-bladder is driving me insane.”

She allows Anne to help her out of the armchair and walks off with her, leaving Athos to show Anne’s sketchbook to Aramis and Porthos.

“I like it,” Porthos says, squinting a little to help his imagination along. “It’ll fit in nicely with the place.”

He repeats that verdict when Elodie and Anne return, and earns himself a pleased grin from both women.

“What can I say - we’re good at what we do,” Elodie says. “Now I am going to leave you boys to your cuddling. My mother in law is coming over in half an hour, and there’ll be hell to pay if I’m late.” She hoists up her handbag and places it on her shoulder, points at her feet. “Look, Porthos, I even put on my shoes already so you don’t have to stand by in idle agony while I do it.”

Athos lets out a soft breath of amusement, and Porthos gets up, watches her bow herself out, and walks her to the front door. “You gonna be fine, gettin’ home? I could call you a cab if you wanna.”

“No, thank you,” she says, very firmly. “I prefer to walk. It’s really not that far, you know.”

He gives her a hug then, just because he can, and feels very gratified when her initial stiffness gives way to welcoming warmth almost instantly - even more so when she pats his back. “I will give you a call once I have all the materials I need.”

“You do that,” he says. “Get home safe.”

She smiles and leaves, and he closes the door behind her, walks back to the living room.

“I still need that drink,” d’Artagnan informs him instantly. “Or else I’m going to have very weird dreams tonight.”

“Why, what happened?” Anne asks, just to laugh in delight when d’Artagnan discloses the story to her. “Oh, I don’t know - I think Porthos would do well on a stripper-pole. He’s certainly fit enough.”

Aramis eyes glaze over in contemplative reverie at her words, and Porthos chuckles, turns his head when there’s a knock on the door. “What’s this now - are we expectin’ anyone else?”

As he’s still standing he turns and walks back to the door, just to find a sheepish-looking Elodie on the other side when he opens it.

“Don’t be mad,” she says, glancing back over her shoulder, “but I made a mess on your fancy hall carpet.”


	3. Chapter 3

Porthos follows Elodies’ gaze to the wet spot in front of the elevator, does a double take, and places a firm hand on her shoulder. “You better come back inside.”

“Yes,” she agrees. “I better.”

He leads her back into the living room and nearly starts to laugh when Aramis greets her with an innocent smile. “Forget something?”

Elodie grins back at him, evidently amused. “My water broke.”

Aramis’ eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, Athos goes completely still, Anne jumps up from her place on the couch, and d’Artagnan looks adorably confused. “What water?”

Anne hits him with a cushion, and he flinches, flushes in sudden alarm. “ _That water_! Oh my God, are you alright?”

“Give me your keys,” Anne says, advancing on Elodie. “I’m gonna go and get your emergency bag.”

Elodie promptly starts rummaging in her handbag, fishes out a fat ring of keys, and hands it over. “I live above the pet shop on Main. The red key lets you into the shop in case Ginny has already locked up, and the green one is for my apartment door. The bag is on the ground by the hallway mirror.”

“Should we call an ambulance?” d’Artagnan asks, while Anne bustles out of the room. “Are you in pain?”

“I’m fine,” Elodie says sounding somewhat impatient. “Calm down, will you.”

“D’Artagnan, you’re coming with me, so get your ass in gear!” Anne calls from the hallway, and he rushes out, visibly relieved to get away.

The front door bangs shut behind them, and Porthos gently pushes Elodie towards the armchair and then has to rush off to the bathroom to get a towel when she refuses to sit down without one. Once he’s laid it out she finally sits, and he pulls out his phone, frowns in concentration. “I’m a little rusty - when are we supposed to drive to the hospital?”

“Rusty?” Elodie asks. “What do you mean, _rusty_. Don’t tell me you’re a midwife and I’ve been battling your superior skills and knowledge all this time.”

“My foster mom was a midwife,” Porthos tells her, somewhat distractedly. “How are you feelin’? I assume you at least wanna wait until Anne gets back with your stuff, yeah?”

“Definitely,” she nods, so he puts his phone away. “What I need from you now is to unfreeze your boyfriend. He looks like a slapped mackerel.”

When Porthos turns Athos is in the exact same spot on the couch where he was to begin with, stockstill and straight, with an expression of almost terminal panic on his face.

So Porthos trades places with Aramis and goes to kneel in front of Athos, placing both palms on his thighs, gently rubbing up and down. “Calm down, love. We got this, ok? Look at her, she’s fine.”

Athos’ eyes find his like those of a child that has been lost in the woods, and Porthos smiles at him. “Leave this to me and Aramis, alright? Go and make some more tea.”

Athos blinks and nods, and once Porthos has ascertained that his eyes look a little clearer than before, he gets up and out of the way.

“What’s with him?” Elodie asks when he returns to her side, her gaze on Athos as he fills water into the kettle. “He looks positively traumatized.”

“Our sister in law had a difficult first birth,” Porthos murmurs under his breath. “It was touch and go for a while there.”

His words hang in the air for a long moment, and then Elodie looks up at the ceiling, takes a deep breath. “You had to tell me the true story, didn’t you,” she groans, closing her eyes. “You couldn’t’ve just, I don’t know - made one up?”

Porthos grins and takes her hand, gives it a gentle squeeze. “I thought you’re fine?”

“I am fine!” she snaps, squeezing back. “Doesn’t change the fact that I have absolutely no idea how to do this!”

There’s the suggestion of tears in her voice, so he keeps holding her hand while Aramis goes to lend silent support to Athos over by the kitchen area.

Porthos prefers to stay where he is, crouching on the ground next to the armchair, looking up at Elodie’s pale face. He feels much better now that he’s finally allowed to take care of her, and doesn’t care a rush about what that might say about possible control compulsion on his part.

“You’ll be pleased to hear that Evangeline - that’s our sister in law - had two more girls after the first one,” he tells Elodie in a soothing murmur. “They’re all of them the picture of health and happiness - and that includes their mother.”

Elodie lifts her head at that, and looks down at him with a curious expression on her face. “You know - I have no idea what to make of you. Are you certain you’re real?”

“Quite,” Porthos replies, somewhat nonplussed. “Why? What did I do?”

“It’s not just you,” she says, her eyes flicking over to where Aramis is pretty much cuddling Athos into the fridge. “You and your boys are rather … special.”

She spreads her left hand over her belly, flinches under what Porthos assumes is a more violent contraction. “She’s not going to have any boys in her life. No man-children either.”

A flicker of real pain moves over Elodie’s face, and Porthos watches a muscle in her cheek work as she grinds her teeth. “I hate James for leaving me alone sometimes.”

There’s absolutely nothing to say to this - apart from one thing, maybe.

“You’re not alone,” Porthos says accordingly, her right hand still in his. “Not if you don’t want to be.”

He means it, is the thing - from the bottom of his heart. He doesn’t know what it is about Elodie, but the belonging he feels for her cannot be ignored, just as much as it cannot be explained. To him she feels like family, and there’s no reason why he should keep that fact to himself.

“What, you’ll come to the hospital with me and become her godfather?” Elodie laughs after a somewhat disbelieving pause, something helpless and sad in her voice.

Porthos grins up at her and shrugs. “Sure, why not.”

There’s another pause, a little longer than the last one, and then Elodie laughs again, truly delighted this time. “I’m already on drugs, aren’t I?”

That’s when the front door opens, hailing Anne and d’Artagnan’s return from their errand.

“I stole your keys,” Anne informs Porthos, dropping the bunch onto the couch table, “and here’s the bag. Did you time your contractions?”

“They’re still at least twenty minutes apart,” Elodie says. “Thank you for the bag. Has your brother managed to calm himself?”

“I have,” d’Artagnan says, failing to hide his embarrassed grimace. “Sorry for being weird earlier.”

“Hey, not everyone can grow up with a midwife for a foster mother,” Elodie shrugs. “I think I want to go to the hospital now. Would you be so good as to call me a cab, future godfather to my unborn daughter?”

“Sure,” Porthos says, rising from his crouch to cradle Elodie’s head between his hands and place a reverent kiss on her forehead. “Any preferences as to companies?”

“Surprise me,” Elodie grins. “I think I’m good now either way.”


	4. Chapter 4

Twelve hours later Elodie is a sweaty mess, and Porthos doesn’t look much better.

It wasn’t so much a difficult birth as a protracted one, as they so often are. But to see Elodie with her little girl in her arms gives Porthos a special kind of bliss, especially when Elodie eventually looks up at him, eyes shining, and invites him to take the baby from her arms.

Porthos has seen and held many babies over the years, has even been present for the occasional birth while he still lived with his foster mother, but he never felt quite so _close_ back then, neither to the mother, nor to the child.

The little girl is asleep in his arms, properly exhausted after so many hours of labour, and he’s very careful as he strokes his fingertips over a tuft of feathery soft hair, doesn’t really know what to do with the surge of protectiveness in his chest.

“I want to sleep for a million years,” Elodie says, not even trying to hide a yawn, and Porthos gives her back her little girl, leans over her to brush a kiss to her forehead once the baby is safe in her mother’s arms.

“You certainly deserve it,” he tells her, straightens and turns when he hears the door open at his back.

The nurse casts him a speaking glance, and he ducks his head and grins. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I’m off. Give me a second, will you.” He turns to Elodie once more and smiles at her. “I’m gonna be back later, with chauffeur services for you and the little lady - or have you made any prior arrangements I should be aware of?”

“Naw, be just as managing and patronizing as you want to,” she yawns. “In case Elsa is still outside and waiting, I’d like her to come in now.”

The nurse clears her throat and Elodie glares at her, tired, but uncompromising. “If you want to ruin my relationship with my mother in law for all eternity, please, forbid her to come in.”

“Just a moment then,” the nurse relents and walks Porthos to the door. “Your wife has character,” she murmurs into his ear. “I rather like her.”

“I like her too,” Porthos chuckles, not bothering to correct her, and walks off to where Aramis, Athos, and Elodie’s mother in law are waiting for him.

“She wants to see you,” he tells Elsa, and only when she’s hurried off does he open his arms to his boys and use them both as props, right in the middle of the hallway, allows himself to unlock his knees. “Dear lord that was _exhaustin’_.”

The hospital isn’t precisely quiet so late at night, but the floor is empty of all other visitors, and Porthos quite enjoys closing his eyes against the glaring overhead lights.

“We went out for food earlier,” Athos murmurs against his neck, stroking his back - or maybe that’s Aramis. “We brought you some honey cakes and a chocolate milkshake if you want them.”

“I love you,” Porthos says, remaining where he is. “So much. You have no idea.”

He feels a little weepy, now that the stress is over and everything’s turned out alright, and he’s sure that both Aramis and Athos can hear it in his voice. “She’s very beautiful,” he tells them. “The baby, I mean. Elodie, too. She was so strong. Almost squeezed my hand off a couple of times.”

They take him home then, put him in the back of a cab and feed him before putting him to bed and crawling in after him.

Instead of falling asleep right away he lies awake despite his exhaustion, stares up at the ceiling.

The promise he made Elodie so many hours ago echoes through his head, clashes uncomfortably with the memory of how Elsa looked at him when Elodie told her that he was coming with her into the delivery room.

It wasn’t precisely hateful, the way she looked at him, nor was it resentful. She was shocked - shocked that a man other than her son would be present while her grandchild was born, shocked that Elodie allowed this virtual stranger to witness something so inherently private, that she allowed him to help her when everyone else was told to bugger off.

Porthos doesn’t want to put a strain on Elodie’s relationship with her mother in law, but he doesn’t think that he can just walk away either. Not anymore.

“Are you alright?” Aramis asks him in a drowsy voice sometime around half past three in the morning. “Can’t you sleep?” He strokes his hand over Porthos’ chest, gentle and worried, and Porthos takes a deep breath, tries to order his thoughts.

Athos is fast asleep beside them, sleeping at a little distance, arm stretched out to cling to the seam of Porthos’ pyjama bottoms, so he takes care to lower his voice and contain his volume.

“Do you think it’s weird that I’m gonna be that little girl’s godfather?”

Because it was such a very rash decision, no matter how you look at it, and -

“No, not at all,” Aramis says sleepily. “You’re great with kids, and I could tell that Elodie likes you a lot. It makes sense for her to accept your offer.”

He sounds so very calm about it. Precious Aramis, who’s always so very worried about adhering to the conventions and overstepping lines, sounds entirely satisfied and at peace with the situation.

Porthos didn’t really see that one coming.

“That’s good then,” he says slowly. “As long as you don’t think it’s weird.”

“I’m gonna make her a blanket,” Aramis slurs, more or less asleep by then. “A proper little quilt. We have so much left-over fabric at work, I’m sure Constance’ll let me have some.”

“Yeah, I think so, too,” Porthos whispers, brushing a kiss to Aramis’ left temple. “Thank you, kitten.”

“I love you,” Aramis breathes, and then he’s asleep, face mushed into Porthos’ chest, soft and warm and comforting.

“I love you, too,” Porthos tells him, and then he closes his eyes, and falls asleep as well.

 

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay over?”

It is late evening of the following - or rather the same day, Porthos has escorted Elodie home, helped her put her little girl down for a nap, and now he’s hovering. He’s aware he is. Nothing to do about that.

“Elsa will stay with me tonight,” Elodie says, giving his shoulder a squeeze. She still looks a little pale, and very tired, and Porthos really doesn’t want to leave her - or the baby.

He bites his lip. “I could -”

“Go home,” she interrupts him. “You’re a wonderful teddy bear, and I really like you a lot, but I think Elsa’s going to kill you any moment now. I need to diffuse the situation without you being here, please.”

He hesitates, and she takes his hands into hers, looks up into his eyes. “We’ll be fine, Porthos. I promise. Little Jasmine and I need to make peace with our grumpy grandma, okay?”

He blinks, trying to process her words, blinks again, and then his face explodes into the sort of helpless smile Aramis always dives for his phone for to immortalize.

Elodie sighs and puts her right hand on her heart. “Jesus Christ, warn a girl!”

“I’m gonna hug you now,” he warns her, his heart thumping almost painfully in his chest. “Really tight.”

“Yes, alright, go ahead,” she grins. “But then you gotta go.”

So he hugs and kisses her, because he can and she named her baby girl after his Mom; and then he goes away, because she asked him to, and he really needs to tell Athos and Aramis about this, since they have no idea, and his head’s about to explode.

In a good way. The very best even.


End file.
